The Blue Hawaiian Shirt: Grief, Autumn, and Loving Fiercely While We Can
October has always been one of my favorite months.
Growing up, Halloween was pure magic, a season of crisp air, endless imagination, and the simple joy of pretending to be someone else, just for a day. But life has an agonizing way of redefining the calendar. Three years ago, on October 29, 2023, my world shattered. And while I still carry a deep love for this season, autumn now arrives wrapped in a quiet, undeniable ache.
Three years ago, I said goodbye to my biological dad.
It was sudden, tragic, and entirely unfair. A week prior, I was at work when I received the kind of phone call that instantly drains the air from your lungs: my cousin had found him in his driveway, unconscious behind the wheel with the engine still running.
He never woke up.
For the next seven days, the ICU became my entire universe. I spent that week sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, singing softly, talking through the silence, and reminding him over and over that he was not alone and that he was deeply loved.
If I’m being completely honest, part of my own trauma was speaking in that hospital room. One of my deepest, darkest fears is dying alone, slipping away with no one there, no one caring. I knew, with every fiber of my being, that as long as I had breath in me, my dad would never have to face that darkness by himself. When my time eventually comes, I only hope someone loves me enough to hold my hand the same way.
I didn't grow up with my dad. I met him for the very first time when I was eighteen years old.
I can still feel the whirlwind of emotions from that afternoon: a wild mixture of electricity, terror, and raw anticipation. Would he like me? Did my smile look like his? Was he going to look at me and see a daughter, or a stranger?
We were meeting at my aunt’s house. The entire family had gathered - my mama, my stepdad (Sam in the books) , my brother, my Papa. We were all waiting on the porch, holding our breath. And then his car pulled into the driveway.
He stepped out wearing a bright blue tropical Hawaiian shirt, and in that split second, every doubt vanished into thin air. I knew instantly, down to my bones, that he was my father.
At first, I tried to walk out cautiously behind my mom. But my heart couldn’t bear the distance. I bolted right past her, sprinted across the yard, and threw my arms around him.
All those years of fearing he wouldn’t love me dissolved in an instant. He wasn't distant; he wasn't cold. He was just as ecstatic, just as overwhelmed, and just as eager to hold me. He had spent my entire life wanting me in it, carrying around my baby picture in his wallet for 18 years, but circumstances—which I’ll unpack deeper in my upcoming “Because Of” series—had kept us apart for eighteen years.
When you spend your entire childhood missing a parent, having less than twenty years with them feels like an unfinished sentence. It felt like we were robbed twice: once at the beginning, and once at the end.
In the beginning, navigating our new relationship wasn’t always easy. I had just started college, trying to find my footing, build an adult life, and juggle school and friends. At the same time, my dad wanted all of my time. He wanted every weekend, every phone call, every spare moment. He was desperate to cram eighteen missed years into every single conversation.
Back then, as an eighteen-year-old trying to establish independence, it sometimes felt overwhelming and frustrating.
Looking back now, my heart breaks with empathy for him. I get it. I understand it with a clarity that only time and grief can provide. He wasn’t trying to suffocate me; he was just a father frantically trying to make up for lost time. He was looking at a daughter he had dreamed about for nearly two decades, knowing how much sand had already slipped through the hourglass.
They say with age comes wisdom, and they aren't lying. I see his love so clearly now.
Every year when the leaves begin to turn and late October approaches, a heavy, familiar funk settles over my chest. I miss him every single day, but during this week, the grief is loud.
Losing him taught me the hardest lesson life has to offer: our time here is painfully short, and tomorrow is never guaranteed.
Don’t hold back. Don’t wait for the "right moment" to reach out, to forgive, or to show up. Hug a little tighter. Forgive a little quicker. And above all else, love fiercely—right here, right now, while you still have the chance.
🛡️ Survivor Support & Safety Awareness
As we move beyond Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I want to remind everyone that survivor advocacy doesn't end when October does.
Survivors need support, resources, and opportunities to rebuild throughout the entire year.
That's why I'm proud to continue my collaboration with Hootie Personal Safety Alarms as part of my advocacy work.
💜 **For every 4 Hooties I sell, 1 is donated to a domestic violence shelter.**
Visit **gethootie.com** and use code *JANE* for *10% off*
A personal safety alarm is one possible safety tool, not a substitute for individualized safety planning or professional support. Every survivor's circumstances are different, and safety decisions should always respect their needs and autonomy.
Because everyone deserves the opportunity to build a life where they feel safe, supported, and free to grow.
Continue the Journey
Every book, conversation, and shared story is another opportunity to help someone feel seen. If you’d like to keep exploring my work, here are a few ways to stay connected.
📚 Read the Because of Series
Begin with Because of Jane, where a childhood doll bears witness to a little girl’s experiences of abuse, survival, and hope. Then continue with Because of Maddie: The Girl Who Said “ENOUGH” to hear Maddie’s own voice as she begins to reclaim her story.
🎶 Explore the Survivors Anthem Series
Discover the songs that have helped me find comfort, express difficult emotions, and celebrate surviving. Through personal reflections, I share how music has accompanied different chapters of my life, and invite you to consider the anthems that have carried you through yours.
Read the stories behind the songs on my blog, then listen to the Survivors Anthem Series playlists on YouTube and Spotify. Whether you need a moment of comfort, a good cry, or a reason to sing at the top of your lungs, I hope you find a song that meets you where you are.
🧵 Add Your Thread to The Jane Project
Everyone has a Jane: a doll, stuffed animal, treasured object, or source of comfort that helped them feel less alone. The Jane Project brings those stories together, creating a community connected by the things that helped us hold on. Who was your Jane? Your story can add another thread to our growing web of survivor strength.
📅 Meet Me at an Event
Visit my events page for upcoming book fairs, signings, readings, and speaking engagements. Whether you’ve read my books or are discovering them for the first time, I would love to meet you and hear what brought you to my table.
💜 Keep Reading the Blog
Explore more personal reflections on survival, healing, advocacy, writing, and the everyday joys that belong in our stories, too. Some posts hold difficult memories. Others celebrate friendship, music, books, and the moments that make life feel full.
🔗 Find It All Through My Linktree
Explore my books, projects, playlists, social media, and more at https://linktr.ee/shannonbrownauthor. Choose whatever speaks to you, and continue the journey with me.
Thank you for making room for my story. I hope something you find here helps you feel more connected to your own. 💜
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